The Flaming Feathers deliver perhaps more than you would expect; what you get for your money is actually a cabaret fronted by the charmingly disorganized Peggy de Lune, who is something of a seasoned artiste of the genre. Her stage persona, bursting with confidence, is of a slightly tipsy hostess determined her guests should have a good time and in order to jolly things along to that end is ever so knowingly risqué. The audience was invited to ‘make a sexual noise’ which resulted in some strange groaning and much hilarity. Dressed, on first acquaintance, in a manner of careless déshabillé as if dragged slightly unwillingly from her day bed this mid-west lady hints at a slut manqué saved by a streak of good sense. Her hands wobble on the end of slightly wilful arms giving the impression of an afternoon of genteel toping.
The cavernous Anson Rooms of the student union building did nothing to help the atmosphere and the stage was a barrier to what would have worked much better as an intimate experience. When she came down from the stage to move amongst the audience looking for ‘volunteers’ for a dance competition (between a couple of the men) she was quite at home in the atmosphere of slight panic that gripped the room. One was reminded of the strange threat felt by men when confronted or taunted by unobtainable sex. The second time she did this a large number of men had a sudden urge to relieve their bladders in what became an amusing minor exodus. I tried to blend in with the table by looking at my shoes.
The dances, in a manner reminiscent of Pan’s People, each had a little theme, so we had pilots in hats and short dresses in one dance and lads in shorts and moustaches in another, the latter dancing to Swing Swing Swing. Nothing lacking in verve, each dance number – with appropriate costume changes – was cleverly choreographed and confidently slick.
Of course being burlesque there was a decent helping of flesh and feathers in the kind of spectacular display usually associated with very expensive nightclubs. The general effect was not the palace of flesh one might have anticipated, nor one hastens to add, was it freshly chaste, but sensibly sexy. Naturally it was all in the best possible taste with glittery g-strings and bras keeping the show on the right side of sleaze, and in the process allowing the audience to appreciate the artistry of what was done rather than the tease of what was hinted at. The climax of the show, if that’s not misleadingly suggestive, was the Can Can which was performed to excited whoops which seemed to come mostly from the women in the audience – bravura displays of sexuality having become something of a mark of ‘empowerment’.
The variety show was rounded out by the very engaging, Kiki Lovechild, an accomplished silent clown who has an act that involves the clever use of a kind of crownless hat and, in his second set, paper snow.
The whole show breathes life into a neglected, but newly burgeoning form of entertainment and adds a bit of sparkle to a night out on the town. The growing reputation of the Flaming Feathers is justly deserved. Graham Wyles 21st December 2015
